Cedric Harrow materialized in the Shroud with a sensation like being dropped into cold water—some sort of disorienting displacement that made his stomach lurch.
He was reminded that he was absolutely not prepared for actual combat despite the Academy's attempts at training.
Why am I even here? he thought with familiar frustration. Why am I in this dangerous situation in the first place?
I'm a noble. There are lots of nobles. Putting us in life-threatening scenarios sounds counterproductive. Wasting the resources that we are, as our families have invested generations to accumulate.
He looked around the archaic architecture—buildings from before the fall, structures showing civilization that no longer existed, environment that was simultaneously beautiful and terrifying.
Maybe my parents didn't like me as much as they preached, Cedric thought bitterly. If they did, they wouldn't have sent me to Sparkshire and forced this military education on me.
